


Avengers Academy: Friendship Is Magic

by 100indecisions



Series: Loki fic [11]
Category: Avengers Academy (Video Game), Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: (like most of my other AvAc fics), Alternate Universe - College/University, Emotional Manipulation, Gen, Hurt Loki, Hurt/Comfort, I'm not sorry, Loki-centric, Medical Experimentation, POV Female Character, Warning: Loki, don't really need to know anything about the game except the premise, more or less, nah actually Loki's the one who needs to be warned because he's the one who gets beat up, not exactly violence but there is some blood, sort of Loki/Natasha if you squint, weird friendships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-31
Updated: 2017-07-31
Packaged: 2018-12-05 03:12:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11569110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/100indecisions/pseuds/100indecisions
Summary: Loki is simultaneously too prideful and too insecure to be a good co-conspirator, but that doesn't mean Amora can't find a use for him--as long as she can make sure he's on her side. Unfortunately for her, the other students may have already beaten her to it. (Aside from the title, this has exactly nothing to do with My Little Pony. I just realized it was appropriate and then couldn't resist.)





	Avengers Academy: Friendship Is Magic

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this probably a few months after the game was first released, and I feel like this story's been _almost_ finished for ages, but then every time I would go back and try to finish it, I'd realize I had more to do than I thought--I kept having too many other things to focus on because of deadlines, so this kept getting pushed down the priority list. Plus the longer I went without finishing it, the weirder I felt about it, because there have been about a million events since I wrote most of this fic, with tons of new characters and various plot/character developments, when my story was still basically stuck in the Before Times when nearly all we had was the main storyline. (Hahaha, main storyline, remember when we had that?) But this fic's been a little higher on my priority list than others because it's for a type of mobile game that doesn't have a hugely long life expectancy to begin with, and various developments (mostly, events that increasingly push players to spend huge amounts of money, and players' frustration with that shift) made me realize I really, really needed to get my fic posted before the already-small fandom imploded and/or the game itself went away. WIP Big Bang was the final push I needed to do that.
> 
> Anyway, this fic more or less takes place in the "main" timeline before Scott Lang or Maria Hill are recruited; there's a little more on that in the end notes. No event characters or items are used in this story, and since Loki's Frost Giant outfit (and accompanying storyline) is premium content that can be bought at any time and therefore doesn't have an easily defined place in any timeline, this fic also takes place before AA Loki finds out he's a Frost Giant.

“So does your whole love-me thing not work on other Asgardians or something?”

Amora arches one perfect eyebrow at Taskmaster, who is currently lounging at the Archive computer pretending to work while she tries to study a potentially useful grimoire. “Whyever would you assume that?”

Taskmaster shrugs. “You think Loki’s useless because daddy issues, brother issues, royalty issues, whatever the hell else is going on with Odin’s whole weird family. So why work with him? Why not use your magic tricks to make him do what _you_ want?”

Magic tricks. Anger flares hot inside but stays perfectly contained, never reaching her expression. Taskmaster is useful, so she will tolerate his disrespect for now. “More than any of the other fools here, Loki knows what I am capable of, and although his sorcery is lacking in many areas, his mental defenses are actually quite strong. He requires a much more delicate touch.”

Above his mask, Taskmaster rolls his eyes. “So your voodoo _doesn’t_ work on him.”

“You presume much,” Amora says coolly. “Do you imagine I would tolerate his arrogance and pathetic insecurity if I were not already nudging him along a path that will suit my goals? You may lack a talent for subtlety yourself, but do not think I am so unimaginative.”

He spins the chair in a lazy circle. “Your insults need work. Maybe you noticed this whole _thing_ I’ve got going? Mask, sword, giant freaking shield? I kinda don’t do subtle.”

“No, you do not,” Amora says, and does not add that she would not tolerate his presence either, were he any cleverer or inclined toward subterfuge. His goals are straightforward and dull, and she trusts his predictability, if not his cunning or his loyalty. “Truthfully, I find that a bit refreshing.”

He snorts. “No need to flatter me. You just find me interesting people to fight and we’re good. I actually don’t give a shit about the other stuff. I’m just bored.”

Amora turns back to her book, pretending she is not still keeping an eye on him. “Charming. If you are so interested in Loki suddenly, why not ask him to spar? He does like to show off, and I doubt you have had a chance to fight many sorcerers. I am sure you would find it entertaining, if nothing else.”

“Entertaining,” Taskmaster says. “Yeah, okay. Beats studying.”

“You are not studying,” Amora says without looking up.

“I study,” he says defensively. “Sometimes.”

She turns a page and does not point out that obsessively researching Captain America trivia hardly counts as studying, true as the observation might be. Unlike Loki, she is capable of prioritizing goals and alliances over the temporary amusement gained by antagonizing humans. “Mmhm.”

“Whatever.” Taskmaster scoots the chair back and leaves it there instead of sliding it under the computer desk like a civilized being. “Catch you later, witch lady.”

“Indeed,” she says absently, and only sighs when he lets the door slam behind him. Taskmaster cannot be said to possess keen insight, but he is also not wrong in this particular case; her powers of suggestion do not have the effect on Loki that they do on humans, and she does find him unsuitable as a true co-conspirator. He is, however, quite mistaken to think that she sees in him no potential for usefulness, or that she lacks other means of securing that usefulness for her own ends.

Loki, for all his posturing, is still clearly, pitifully desperate for his father’s approval or at least respect, and so he is unreliable and unpredictable, in part because he refuses even to admit that his goals are hindered by this essential conflict. Amora’s goals, on the other hand, are a great deal purer and more straightforward: she enjoys power for its own sake, wishes for that above all else, and will do what is necessary to gain it. As the only other Asgardian and sorcerer currently attending Avengers Academy, Loki is an asset she would be foolish to overlook, if only because he is quite capable of making a nuisance of himself when he wishes to do so. He does not trust her, of course, but that is no matter; Amora has no intention of trying in vain to win his trust, and the best part is that there is little reason for her to do so. Instead, she must only convince him to distrust the others more. And she determined quite some time ago that Professor Pym is the perfect person to help her do so, whether he recognizes he is helping her or not. Given the right nudges in the right direction, he will almost certainly do the vast majority of the work for her in destroying any lingering thoughts Loki might have that the humans will not turn on him.

It is not that Pym is a wicked man or a cruel one; for that matter, it would not be entirely accurate even to say that he is without principles or morals, or that he prioritizes his own curiosity far above such things. It is more that in the grip of his obsessive quest for knowledge and fascination with the unknown, he ceases to remember that such things exist in the first place—and because he is always driven by his own (slightly manic) curiosity, he exists in a near-constant state of what can only be described as cheerful amorality. As useful pawns go, he can hardly be improved upon. Amora does not even need her magic; all she must do is plant a seed, and he will do the rest.

The truth that she prefers to keep to herself is this: her powers, at least as they are right now, depend a great deal more on suggestion and the amplification of existing desires than on true hypnosis. Falcon and Stark are already driven by their hormones, already find her attractive without a single hint of persuasion, so it is easy to build on that foundation and encourage their existing desire to please her. But they are also strongly moral creatures, and with her powers not yet recovered to the point she is nearly certain she remembers, she cannot compel them to do anything they would truly consider wrong. Stark, for instance, will set his hot tub to a temperature that actually burns his skin if she asks him to do so, or run around the quad barking like a dog; he will not help her create a weapon to pierce Odin’s armor.

Pym is a different matter entirely. He has made no secret of his desire to study the powers of the students he occasionally supervises, particularly the Asgardians, whether they offer their cooperation or not; he frequently requests Vision’s permission to dissect him, and at least once exposed Stark to high levels of electricity without his knowledge or consent under the assumption that doing so would unlock new levels of genius. Where scientific advancement is involved, Pym seems generally oblivious to the idea of scruples or ethics. Suggest strongly (but subtly) enough that he is capable of using Loki as an experimental subject, and Pym will try to do so, with no more hesitation than what is necessary to determine the most effective methods.

She has begun spending a considerable amount of time in the lab, recently, giving Pym plenty of opportunity to observe her experiments with potions and increase his interest in his magical students. In fact, right now seems like a very good time to pay him another visit. If the hungry way he’s been eyeing her magic lately is any indication (which if course it is), he will ask about magic again soon. From there, it should be child’s play to guide him onto a productive path—and better yet, as long as he puts in a solid effort, he will not even have to display any particular competence. This is the other beautiful part of her plan: Pym does not actually have to succeed in what he is trying to do. He only needs to make the attempt in such a way that Loki cannot help noticing.

When she arrives the lab is empty save for Pym, whose already enthusiastic expression brightens comically when he sees her. She ignores him and sets up her equipment, and for the next 15 minutes he does a terrible job of pretending he isn’t staring at her every flicker of magic while she pretends (rather more successfully) not to notice because she is focusing too intently on her work.

Pym speaks up, finally, when Amora adds a reagent that sparks across the potion’s surface and leaves it glittering. “I’ve noticed,” he says in a miserable attempt at sounding casual, “you’re in here pretty often making your potions. You use those a lot?”

“I like them,” Amora says. “Prepared correctly, potions can be subtle and effective, and they require no effort of will at the moment of use.”

He makes a “hmm” noise. “I guess I don’t see Loki in here much, or at least when he’s here, he’s not making potions.”

She scoffs but keeps her tone very slightly absent, her eyes on the beaker, as if all her focus is on the potion she is brewing. “Loki’s magic is inefficient. Showy. He is too used to fighting with Thor—he puts so much of his effort into never allowing his opponent to land a strike that he fails to account for the possibility. Any blow that actually connects can force him to burn off a great deal of energy simply to keep moving.”

“That’s fascinating,” Pym says. “So it’s not just force fields? He actually uses magic to supplement his physical responses in a fight?”

Amora shrugs. “Perhaps. All I know for certain is that it is a wasteful use of energy. I tend to prefer subtlety and elegance in all things. Redirection, not brute force.”

Pym leans forward. “So is your magic different, or do you just use it differently? All my readings are inconclusive.”

“Hm.” Amora sets aside the pipette and pretends to consider. “I am inclined to say the latter, although…” She tilts her head, frowning. “My spells tend not to affect him in quite the same way as other Aesir—his brother, for instance. I have never given much thought to what that might mean.” She has theories, none of which are particularly relevant at this juncture. If there is a secret associated with Loki’s birth—and she thinks there might be—it is one the Allfather guards carefully and Loki himself does not know. For the time being, she has judged it not worth the risk of pursuing, but there is certainly no harm in further piquing Pym’s curiosity if he wants to do this for her too.

Well. No harm for her, at any rate.

“Huh.” Pym drums his fingers on the counter for a moment, then picks up a pen and begins clicking it on and off. The noise is exceptionally annoying. Amora entertains herself with thoughts of how she might use the pen as a weapon against him and lets none of her irritation show in her body language or expression. After fidgeting for a little longer, he says, “So it’s a finite resource. You could run out of magic and then you’d be, I don’t know, on the same level as Cap?”

Amora examines the color of her potion and adds a bit of powdered bone. “ _I_ would not. But yes, it’s possible. I’ve seen it happen. Wear a sorcerer down, get them to expend all their energy with no way to replenish it—quite an effective tactic, at least against inexperienced fighters who rely overmuch on magic in combat.”

“And physical damage makes it faster because they automatically dip into their magic reserves to heal themselves?” She nods, because it is more or less accurate, and he says once more, “Huh. Fascinating.”

She smiles tolerantly. “It only seems that way to you because you cannot see and manipulate the energies yourself. In truth, these are rather basic principles. Mortals can only try to understand through science what we mages know instinctively—and science must always fall short.”

“That’s what’s great about alternate universes,” Pym says, grinning. “Somewhere, some version of me has already figured out how to understand magic through science, and if he can do it, so can I.”

Ah yes, alternate universes. Amora is not sure how much of his theory is true—she suspects the multiverse is finite, rather than representing every possible outcome of every possible decision—but Pym believes it, and it is another eminently useful aspect of his personality and sense of morality. If all possibilities are realities somewhere, if everything that can happen has happened, then individual lives and decisions cease to hold much meaning, each one becoming something of an experiment whose results do not truly matter because other outcomes already exist. Given that Pym refers to “evil” alternate versions of himself, it is clear he still subscribes to a more clear-cut binary of right and wrong, at least in theory, so she is quite sure he has not entirely thought through the implications of an infinite multiverse. She is also quite sure the implications have affected his thinking anyway, even if he does not consciously recognize them.

“I am sure you will put forth a most impressive effort,” Amora says with the amused air of an adult indulging a passably clever child, “but science cannot control magic.”

“Now, that’s just quitter talk,” he says, “and let me tell you, no Hank Pym I’ve ever met has been a quitter. I just need more data. Like, a _lot_ more data. If I could get some blood samples, or get either of you to practice for me—”

Amora laughs. “Believe me, Professor, Stark has tried to collect data on my magic as well and failed to produce anything sensible. My powers interfere with most instruments, apparently.” Well, they do when she is trying for that effect, which she has done consistently since her arrival here. Loki has not thought to do the same, despite being the reason for the relatively new Maverick Dorm and its higher levels of surveillance. Amora, on the other hand, determined how to bypass such surveillance before volunteering for a room in Maverick Dorm as an effectively meaningless show of good faith to Fury.

“Ohhh, is _that_ why the readings from you are so different from Loki’s?” Pym asks.

“I imagine. I’m afraid requesting Loki’s assistance will not help you very much either—I can think of nothing you could offer that would induce him to help you, and he would refuse all the more strongly out of spite if he knew how badly you desired that knowledge.”

Pym looks undaunted; if anything, his eyes brighten. “You could tell me more about his magic, then, and help me interpret the data I _can_ collect!”

“Oh no,” Amora says, smiling. “You will not learn his secrets from me. I do have some loyalty to a fellow Asgardian and magic-user, after all. But I am sure I wish you luck in your attempts to gain his cooperation. Now, if you would excuse me for a moment, I must concentrate. The charm needs to be set before the potion returns to its inert state.”

“Sure, sure,” Pym says. He slides off his stool and starts to pace, his expression already distracted and very slightly feverish. Amora hides another smile and returns her apparent attention to the potion. Pym may be a reckless fool, but he is an intelligent one, and she has little doubt that she has successfully aimed his thoughts in the right direction.

She still leaves the lab as soon as she can do so without appearing to hurry. No sense lingering long enough for Pym to focus on her after all her efforts to the contrary.

* * *

Amora is careful not to be in the lab alone, after that, fully aware that Pym will eagerly grasp after any opportunity to study her as well, if he is not kept properly focused. She is careful to keep her own spellwork out of his sight too, so he does not become distracted; and to avoid the lab whenever Loki is there, to ensure that she is not affected by whatever Pym eventually develops. She does occasionally discuss Loki’s magic within Pym’s hearing (always in seemingly natural ways, of course), in case the scientist needs the reminder.

And she watches.

She has far better things to do than spend her days spying on the lab and its inhabitants—or on Loki, for that matter. Instead, she sets up subtle detection spells to alert her whenever Loki enters the lab and monitor his reserves of magic, and she goes about her business. Such spells would be more precise if placed directly on Loki’s person rather than the building, of course, but she is realistic enough to know that doing so would be an unnecessary risk, given that precision is not required in this case anyway.

For nearly two weeks, nothing of consequence happens. She refines her attacks at the blasting range, practices her spellwork, ransacks the Timeless Archives for hidden knowledge, soaks in Stark’s hot tub when he is otherwise occupied, rolls her eyes at Loki’s fixation on dancing, and keeps her senses attuned for magical disturbances. Every now and then, one of her spells tugs at the back of her mind—hints of unusual energy from the lab basement, or Loki entering the building—and she pays slightly closer attention to make sure no important developments escape her notice.

As is his wont, Pym spends most of his time in the lab’s underground level when he is not nominally supervising his students, but he pays particular attention to what appears to be a containment chamber of some kind, nearly identical to the hologram projection chamber upstairs. He tinkers with this one endlessly, reinforcing it with new alloys and magnets and oddly humming grids, and he sets off explosion after explosion inside it to test the barriers he’s constructed. He crafts new instruments, too, out of some metal Amora does not recognize, and mixes chemicals, and spends a great deal of time studying data from sensors he has placed strategically around campus. He always had some—Amora discovered them just a few days into her stay here, and she suspects Romanov is the only other student to have discovered their existence—but they have proliferated now that Pym has a specific goal. Amora has no more trouble avoiding them than she did before.

(What she rarely sees Pym do is sleep; he naps occasionally on the sofa shoved against one wall of his basement lab, but even when Amora happens to check on him during the earliest hours of the morning, she usually sees him hunched over one of his workstations, slightly wild-eyed and disheveled, usually clutching a brightly colored can of some noxious energy drink. Amora rather suspects this is not new behavior for him. She also does not particularly care.)

The day things change, Amora is sitting in her own chamber, a mirror on the desk in front of her with a full scrying spell activated. The lab looks normal, for Avengers Academy definitions of “normal”; Wasp is experimenting with chemicals and ducking the occasional explosion, Stark is working with Pym’s modified Tesla coil and swearing every time a stray bolt of electricity hits him, and Loki is taking notes at the projection of some unfortunate human. But there is a very faint background hum, just beyond the level of human hearing, and even from this distance it makes Amora’s teeth itch just a little. Loki, for his part, seems not to have noticed—but every now and then he shakes his head as if to clear it, once frowning and rubbing at the bridge of his nose.

Amora settles back in her chair to watch, nearly certain something will happen soon.

No sooner has she thought it than several things happen, almost at the same instant. A massive bolt of electricity arcs out from the coil and strikes Loki full in the chest, outlining his body in a flare of blinding light as he goes completely rigid. The projection chamber flashes red with a wave of heat that shatters a nearby rack of glassware. Wasp and Stark shriek and take cover. And the background resonance changes pitch, becomes something that would burrow into Amora’s brain if she let it, and Loki crumples to the floor.

Stark dives for the Tesla coil and shuts it down, and Amora is grudgingly impressed by his daring—he, at least, probably realized that the uncommonly strong surge of electricity would have killed anyone less hardy than Loki, and of course the wisest thing to do would be to get as far from it as possible. Choosing instead to shut it off is reckless and foolhardy—typical for Stark—but she has to admit that doing so while knowing the risks shows a good deal of courage.

The coil groans to a halt, and Stark turns to Loki, Wasp coming up beside him looking wide-eyed and shaken. Loki is curled on the floor, hands clamped to the sides of his head, green sparks of magic crawling erratically up and down his body. His nose is bleeding and there is a charred hole in his shirt, through which burned skin can be seen, and once again Amora is reluctantly impressed: Pym truly did find a way to inflict serious damage on the first try.

“Holy shit, are you okay?” Stark asks, hurrying to crouch by Loki’s side.

“Y-ye—” Loki cuts himself off with a groan, eyes squeezing shut.

Wasp elbows Stark out of the way and drops to her knees in front of Loki. “Hey, hey, can you hear me?”

“Of—course I—” He stops, panting. Blood continues to trickle from his nose, beginning to pool on the floor.

“Great, okay, that’s good. Obviously your heart’s beating too. Is something wrong with your magic?”

“My—what…?” He holds out one shaking hand, visibly struggling to focus. A green glow begins to coalesce around his fingers but sputters out almost immediately, and his eyes widen. “No, no no no—”

“Loki, hey,” Wasp says, very nearly calm and authoritative. Interesting. “Has this happened before? Can you tell me that?”

“Yes, but. Not like this. I…do not…” He gags suddenly and tries to push himself upright, but his arms are shaking too badly to hold him.

“Tony, help me,” Wasp snaps, and between the two of them they manage to prop him up a bit, enough that he doesn’t choke when he coughs thick blood onto the floor.

Wasp goes a little pale. “We need to get Odin.”

“No,” Loki gasps, and spits out more blood. “No, he already—thinks me weak—”

“And that sucks, but he’s the only other Asgardian around who might know what’s wrong, so—”

Loki tries to sit up again and lists sideways into Stark, one hand pressed to his temple (for his part, Stark mostly looks out of his depth). “It is…so _loud_ …”

Stark and Wasp exchange a glance, and Stark says, “I don’t hear anything.”

“You…do not…? I— _oh_.” He gags again, and Stark hurriedly grabs a metal basin off the nearest counter. Loki vomits more thick, dark blood into it, and Stark gives Wasp a helpless look.

Wasp whips out her phone and starts tapping away at the screen. “Okay, I texted Kamala and she’s going to find Odin. Medical emergencies trump daddy issues.”

Pym, having been observing while pretending not to, hastily returns himself to almost-normal size and hops down from his perch on the half-wall as if he is only now noticing what has happened. “This is a great opportunity to try something I’ve been working on! If I can give you this quick injection, you should perk right up—”

“ _No_ ,” Loki gasps, jerking back and almost knocking his head into Stark’s.

“Yeah, that sounds like a _really bad_ idea,” Stark says, more than a little nervously.

“I’m almost positive my new serum won’t have any unforeseen side effects!” Pym says. Clever word choice, given that he’s conveniently left out any side effects he already expects to see. “Besides, this is science! Discovery! I can take you down below where all my good equipment is and start running some tests, and I’m sure I’ll figure out what’s wrong in no time!”

At the word _tests_ , Loki’s eyes widen, fixing on the syringe already in Pym’s hand, and for the first time a hint of real fear enters his gaze. He lurches out of Stark’s grasp, trying to scramble away, and collapses back to the floor before he’s even halfway to his feet. His ears are bleeding now as well, Amora notices.

“Get away,” Loki says hoarsely. “Get away, I don’t want—” He doubles up, coughing. Undaunted, Pym keeps advancing, his eyes gleaming with eagerness.

Wasp straightens, somehow becoming much larger than is physically possible, and glares up at Pym. “He said no, so _back off_.”

“I’m just trying to help!” Pym protests.

“Dude, your idea of helping me was to electrocute me to unlock my brain,” Stark says.

“You can’t have science without taking a few risks,” Pym says in what he seems to think is a reasonable tone.

“Do not…touch me,” Loki says, his voice ragged. His shaking has grown more pronounced, and it is with no little satisfaction that Amora realizes he is truly afraid of what Pym might do to him. “I…will not…ahhh Norns, my _head_ —”

Pym is still eyeing Loki almost hungrily, and that seems to make up Wasp’s mind. “Tony,” she says briskly, “get him outside.”

“Really, my lab is better,” Pym says.

“Your lab caused this in the first place,” Wasp says. “ _Tony_.”

“On it,” Stark says. He pulls Loki’s arm over his own shoulders and tries to help Loki stand. Loki chokes, knees buckling, and slumps back to the floor, where he wraps one arm around his midsection and vomits more blood.

“Okay,” Stark says nervously, crouching by him, “look, I’m gonna have to carry you.”

Loki shoves at him weakly. “You will do—no such— _ah_.” He curls inward, panting.

“Yeah, okay, just yell at me later,” Stark says, and scoops Loki into his arms before activating his repulsor boots and rocketing straight out the nearest window. Wasp makes an “I’m watching you” gesture at Pym, shrinks, and zips out after Stark. Pym stares after them for a moment, looking a trifle disappointed, but then his eyes are drawn toward the blood and bile spattered across his floor, and he grins.

With a slight tug on the spell, Amora makes the image follow Loki outside. Stark flies him to the lawn behind the archives and deposits him more or less gently in the grass, and Wasp alights next to them, back to her normal size.

“How do you feel?” she asks anxiously. “Any better? Was it something in the building, or—?”

“Hush,” Loki says, vaguely flapping his hand in her direction. “Give me…a moment at least…without your inane babble.”

“Yeah, I’d say he’s already feeling better,” Stark says.

“Hush,” Loki repeats. He shuts his eyes for a moment and just breathes, flat on his back in the grass, and slowly his breathing grows deeper and less labored.

Wasp lasts a little longer than a minute before she says impatiently, “Talk to me, Loki.”

“If you insist,” he says, eyes still closed. “It would seem…the assumption that something in the lab was adversely affecting me…may have been accurate.”

“Well, duh,” Wasp says. “You feel better? You’ve stopped bleeding and puking, which has to be a good sign.”

“I should hope,” Loki says. He sighs. His color is very slightly improved, but his face is still dotted with sweat and even paler than usual, with the blood under his nose in stark contrast. “I am merely…very, very tired.”

“And your magic?” Stark asks.

Loki starts to tense up, winces, and presses his head back against the grass. “I think…this feels rather like magical exhaustion, now. I will recover fully with a little time to rest.”

“Like, five more minutes here, or do we need to get you to bed?” Wasp asks. “Because that electrical burn looks like it’s only barely started healing, and I know that’s not normal for you.” Loki hesitates, one hand drifting toward his chest and twitching away before his fingers touch burned skin. “Right, bed it is then. You can argue about it when you don’t still look like you’re two seconds from passing out.” Loki grumbles a bit at that, but it seems to be mostly for show, especially when he carefully sits up and has to stop to rest, swaying, his head drooping forward.

“At some point,” Stark says with a weak smile, “we should probably talk about why we’re, like, automatically following all of Jan’s orders.”

“Are _you_ certified in first aid?” Wasp asks. “No? Well there you go then. I might not be an expert but I guarantee I have more idea what I’m doing than you do.”

Khan runs up then, legs extended to thrice their usual length for extra speed, and reports breathlessly, “I couldn’t find Odin. Fury said he went to Asgard earlier. What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Loki mutters.

“Sure, if getting fried in the lab and then having, like, a magic seizure qualifies as nothing,” Stark says.

Khan twists her fingers together. “Can I help?”

“I have no need of your help,” Loki snaps, and shoves himself to his feet. He manages half an unsteady step before his legs give way and he topples. Khan shoots out a suddenly giant hand and catches him before he can hit the ground.

“You were saying?” she asks pointedly. Loki glowers half-heartedly at her but doesn’t try to pull away this time. His skin is even waxier, the blood standing out sharply.

“Okay, come on, your dorm’s not far,” Wasp says. “First floor or second?”

Loki grimaces. “Second.”

“Not even slightly a problem,” Khan says. “Look, insta-chair,” and her enormous hand warps to form a seat perfectly sized for Loki, his feet dangling a few handspans above the grass. Loki sits back with a huff of surprise, and Khan sets off across the lawn, Wasp and Stark following.

Romanov is sitting in silent contemplation on Maverick Dorm’s one outdoor chair, and she looks up as the others approach. (Loki, interestingly, looks even more embarrassed when he sees her, and only a glare from Wasp keeps him seated.)

“Do I want to ask?” Romanov says, standing up to meet them.

“I highly doubt that is the relevant question,” Loki mutters.

“You _stay_ ,” Wasp says sternly, and flits up to the second-floor deck to open doors. Romanov turns to Stark, eyebrows raised.

“Loki got electrocuted in the lab,” Stark says. “The Tesla coil overloaded or something—way higher voltage than usual, anyway—and then…” He glances at Loki. “Was that what knocked out your magic, or was it something else?”

“Your magic’s disabled?” Romanov asks.

“No,” Loki says.

“Dude, you’re still not healing,” Stark says.

Loki glares at him, one hand coming up to gingerly touch the charred fabric of his shirt. “My magic and energy are temporarily diminished. It should all regenerate fully if I am ever given a little peace and quiet.”

“So this was different from the inhibitors that protected Fury,” Romanov says.

Loki scowls, but after a moment he says reluctantly, “Yes. There was a…resonance, of some kind, in the lab. It was very slight when I first entered, but it increased dramatically at the same moment I was struck by electricity.”

Romanov’s eyes narrow. “Is that right.”

“Okay, bring up the patient!” Wasp calls. Khan raises her chair-hand to the second floor, Stark flying up to help Wasp help Loki inside (he grumbles a bit more about not being an invalid but makes no real attempt to walk on his own, and he leans on them heavily enough that it’s obvious he needs the assistance). The three Midgardians settle Loki in his bed, generally making a much greater production of it than is at all necessary. Khan finds food and water to place within easy reach, as well as a wet washcloth for the drying blood on his face and neck; Wasp digs out extra blankets and pillows despite Loki’s insistence that he does not need them and asks at least three times if Loki is sure he’ll recover on his own. Stark keeps back at first, tapping at one of his StarkPad devices, and Amora waits for the mortals to leave. But now that they have ensconced Loki in his bedchamber, the Midgardians seem intent on staying to _chat_ , Stark in particular still trying to understand the “mystical BS” behind Loki’s collapse and current condition.

“I mean, I can understand you being laid out by a damn lightning strike,” Stark says, “and maybe some kind of really specific frequency blocking your ability to manipulate energy—”

“Stop trying to make my sorcery fit into your narrow, human understanding of reality,” Loki says. “There are more things in heaven and Earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”

“Ha!” Stark says. “Quoting Shakespeare, huh? ‘I hate everything mortal’ my _ass_.”

Loki folds his arms, looking disgruntled (and, Amora thinks, trying to hide the fact that his hands are still shaking). “I would not have expected _you_ to recognize a literary quotation of any origin.”

“Okay, but Shakespeare,” Khan says. “You just have to exist somewhere around pop culture to pick up a little of that.”

Loki’s lips thin with displeasure. “My point remains.”

“Ugh, fine, it blocked your _magic_ somehow, which I will continue to try to understand in a sciency way because that’s what I do and it makes a lot more _sense_ to think of it as a jamming frequency or something. So why didn’t you recover right away once you were out of range? Were you trying to heal yourself or something?”

Hm. This could be a productive line of questioning. Loki looks askance at Stark, shoulders pulling in tighter, his expression gratifyingly wary. “Why do you want to know?”

“Because it’s _weird_ ,” Stark says, “but also, if we’re going to keep something like this from happening again, I gotta understand how it works in the first place.”

Loki’s eyebrows shoot up as if he had not even considered this motive. He studies Stark for a moment and then says, “It is…not quite as simple as you seem to think. My magic is part of me, as much as blood or bone. There are consequences to curtailing it in such a manner. And no, I have never been terribly interested in the healing arts. What happened here was more…an involuntary transfer of energy.”

“What does _that_ mean,” Stark says, at the same moment as Khan says, “Ohhh, I get it.”

Stark stares at her. “You _do_?”

“Sure, like converting mana or energy into health. It’s a thing. Some classes can do it automatically if their health drops low enough, even if they’re not magic-based. It’s not a healing spell, it’s just—it’s a thing.”

“You’re talking about _games_ ,” Stark says. “Like—World of Warcraft and Dungeons & Dragons, like things are supposed to work that way in real life?”

“It’s not my fault something magic makes sense to me because RPGs are slightly more realistic than everybody figured,” Khan says.

“Yes, quite,” Loki says, looking amused at Stark’s consternation.

“ _Leave_ , you imbeciles,” Amora mutters, fists clenching. She has to speak with Loki alone before much more time has passed to ensure that the correct seed is planted properly; if she loses her chance, all of this will have been for naught.

“Speaking of games! I wasn’t sure if you had books in here or like, magical internet, so—” Khan stretches her arm out from the end of the bed and offers Loki a small red device. “You can borrow my Gameboy if you want—”

“That’s _not_ what it’s called,” Stark says.

“And I’d use the official name if you’d figure out something better than ‘the best portable video game player ever because StarkTech rocks,’” Khan says. “Anyway mine’s got some Zelda games preloaded and everything. This one’s my spare so it’s not a disaster if you break it. But maybe try not to break it?”

Loki blinks at her. “…all right.”

She beams. “Cool. I’ve basically got Ocarina of Time memorized, so text me or something if you get stuck. Or look up a walkthrough, I guess. Aaaand crap I need to go study. Bye!” She darts out the door.

Stark shakes his head. “That is _not_ healthy.”

“I wouldn’t worry,” Loki says dryly. “She reads very quickly, so about half of each study session ends up being devoted to superhero webcomics. Also not particularly healthy, I suppose, but not in the way you mean.” At Stark’s puzzled look, Loki’s expression turns slightly defensive, and he says, “I do talk to people about things other than mischief and conquest, you know. Kamala and I have ‘hung out,’” and he mimics quotation marks with his fingers, just like an idiot Midgardian.

“Seriously though,” Wasp says, “do you even have a computer in here? Or a _phone_?”

“I _rarely_ feel the need for Midgardian technology.”

“He’s just saying that because I won’t make him a flying suit,” Stark whispers loudly. “Ow! Jan, come on, I’m kidding.”

Wasp glares at him, arms folded. “Don’t play favorites. And don’t you _dare_ rob me of the chance to design something new and fabulous.” She eyes Loki speculatively. “Green and gold, right? I can work with that. Not the horns, though. I guarantee you’ll regret them in a real fight.”

“I have _been_ in real fights,” Loki says stiffly, “and I vastly prefer Asgardian armor to some— _contraption_ —”

“Careful, I think Steve’s got a copyright on that word,” Stark says, aside.

“No, shut up, don’t ruin this,” Wasp says, ignoring Stark. “Listen, I’m sure Asgardian armor is amazing, but can it make you _fly_? Maybe, I actually have no idea, but that’s not my point, Tony can make you a suit that flies and probably protects you from anti-magic stuff and I can make it look amazing. Don’t even try to tell me that doesn’t sound cool, because I’ll know you’re lying.” She pauses. “I mean, more than I already know it.”

“Well,” Loki says dryly, “how can I possibly refuse such a generously phrased offer?”

“Damn right you can’t. I’m going to design it anyway. Argue about it with Tony if you want but don’t argue with me.”

“Seriously,” Stark says, “don’t. Nothing is worth that. Ow, Jan, I was supporting you! You have incredibly sharp elbows, by the way, I bet Steve would have ideas about working that into your fighting style. Call it a bee sting or something, because they’re so tiny and sharp. _Ow_.”

“You did not even _try_ to evade that one,” Loki says, seeming amused despite himself.

“I’m just offering proof of my hypothesis,” Stark says. “Selflessly. For science.”

“You haven’t all had enough science today?” Romanov says from the doorway.

Stark flinches back with a yelp. “Don’t _do_ that! How do you always show up out of nowhere?”

“I’d tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.” She looks them over, one eyebrow raised. “You know you’re kind of defeating the purpose of dragging Loki in here so he can rest, right?”

“…oh yeah,” Wasp says, looking sheepish.

“I am not some _invalid_ ,” Loki begins heatedly, but Romanov talks right over him.

“So c’mon, let him get some sleep. Go on. Shoo.” Romanov gestures to the door.

“Okay, well,” Stark says, and points at Loki. “You get better, because Club A is just gonna feel _wrong_ if you’re not around to smirk and talk about your glorious gyrations. Hey, actually, maybe this is my chance to get in a little dancing myself and steal your title.”

Loki sniffs. “As if any of you mortals could.”

“Please, you both know I’m better anyway,” Wasp says. “Come on, Tony, Natasha’s right, and I want to get started designing that suit.” She turns back to Loki. “You’ll love it, I promise. Or if you don’t you’ll be smart enough to keep that to yourself.” Loki opens his mouth, probably to make a comment that no reasonable person would classify as “smart,” but Wasp doesn’t notice, already dragging Stark out the door with her. Stark makes a face in Loki’s general direction, and then they’re both gone, _finally_.

Romanov is a new concern all by herself, however, and she makes no move to leave; in fact, she closes the door, pulls the desk chair over to Loki’s bed, and makes herself comfortable, all while Loki watches her with a hint of suspicion.

“I highly doubt you are here to inquire after my health,” he says after a moment. “What do you want?”

“Ouch,” Romanov says mildly. “Well, you’re half right. Everybody else has the touchy-feely stuff taken care of, so I wasn’t planning on being redundant.”

“Ah yes,” Loki says with a patently false smile. “A much greater concern than being insincere.”

Romanov snorts. “That’s hardly an insult when that’s how we both work and you know I’m well aware of it. At some level, you probably also realize making too many assumptions isn’t going to do you any favors.” While Loki is apparently trying to think of a response, she crosses her legs and adds, “You’re right though, I’m not here to ask you anything, but I did want to pass along some information. If you’re interested, of course.”

Loki scowls at her. “Say what you wish to say and have done with it.”

“Sure,” Romanov says. “First thing is, if you were wondering why Steve and Sam haven’t stopped by—”

“I was not,” Loki interjects. Amora does not need to be the God of Lies to know he is not being truthful.

“Uh-huh,” Romanov says, clearly thinking the same thing. Irritating little human. “Well, they’re out on a mission to track down some baron who’s trying to resurrect Hydra School again—took them across half the country and they won’t be back for hours. But I texted Steve about what happened, and he’s pissed as hell at Pym.”

“Why?” Loki asks, too startled to hide his surprise.

“You’re one of his teammates,” Romanov says, almost gently. “He takes that pretty seriously. Well, he takes almost everything seriously, but you know what I mean.”

“He is a fool,” Loki mutters, but his voice lacks conviction.

“That’s one way to look at it, I guess,” Romanov says. “Pepper’s mad too, for what it’s worth. I don’t think Pym’s actually afraid of much, but she practically had him cowering by the time I left. There was a lot about irresponsibility and recklessly endangering students.”

“I imagine any mortal hit by that much electricity would have died,” Loki says stiffly. “She must consider it quite fortuitous that I was struck instead.”

“Well, sure, she’s glad nobody died,” Romanov says, “but she’s mad you got hurt. Something about the faculty’s responsibility to all the academy’s students, and being even more cautious with our alien students because we don’t know what might have unexpectedly adverse effects. Her words, heavy emphasis on the unexpected part.”

Loki’s expression flickers through several emotions, far too quickly to catch, and settles on blankness. “Indeed.”

“It wasn’t a warning against getting caught, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Romanov says, watching Loki closely, and when his fingers twitch on the blankets she nods a little, as if to herself. “The implication was that she wasn’t convinced it was an accident and she’s going to be keeping an eye on him.”

Loki tenses. “She thinks this was a deliberate attack.”

Romanov raises one eyebrow. “You don’t?”

“I am not a fool,” he snaps. “Of course I do. I do not understand why she does.”

“She knows how Pym operates, is my guess. She was really reading him the riot act. Kind of impressive. I’d be surprised except, you know, redheads. The nice thing is, with her yelling at him, he couldn’t really pay attention to anything else, like me snooping around. Not that he could catch me anyway, but it was a great distraction, so I figured I’d do a little digging of my own.”

“Wonderful,” Loki says. “I am _terribly_ glad my misfortune was _useful_ for you.”

“Well, good,” Romanov says, “because I didn’t actually learn anything this time. I was there for something else.” She reaches into her jacket and pulls out a bag of something that rattles, which she drops unceremoniously in Loki’s lap. “Present for you. I know, it’s not even your birthday.”

He opens it and goes very still. “Is this—”

“Your blood, yeah. You spit up enough that Pym got some good samples.”

Loki’s fingers twitch against the bag. “Is this all of it?”

“That’s all of it that I could find, and chances are extremely high that I found all of it, so—yes, probably. I thought about destroying it myself but I figured you might have some special magic way of getting rid of…well, anything that could be used against you. Oh, and I wiped Pym’s notes, and the backups, and the backups of the backups. JARVIS helped a little. Tony’s going to have him monitoring the lab from now on, and Pepper’s all over Pym about lab safety.”

Loki stares at her, seeming caught off guard. “…why?”

Natasha rolls her eyes. “He’s kind of insane and dangerous.”

“Well, yes,” Loki says, “but…you are helping me, specifically. All of you. Why?”

“It’s really not that complicated,” Natasha says. “I don’t trust you and I don’t particularly like you, but that doesn’t mean I think it’s okay for somebody to experiment on you, which sure seems to be where this was going.” She gestures toward the bag. “Pym collected those right away, obviously, and already had things set up to run analysis, which is pretty suspicious already. Plus there’s another containment chamber in the basement that seems like it was modified in some pretty specific ways. I also found recent timefog readings on the exact voltage of the lightning produced by your brother’s hammer. That’s not proof of anything, of course, and the Tesla coil’s not set up to save its previous settings, so I couldn’t say if it was the same power level—”

“It was,” Loki says. “At first, and then a bit higher.”

“—but either way, it’s weird. Lots of readings and data analysis of your various displays of sorcery, too, which is actually pretty normal for Pym, but given how you reacted to whatever he did…” She shrugs. “It’s probably safe to say he did something with that information.”

“He wanted to incapacitate me and study me,” Loki says.

“Looks that way. Might’ve had better success, too, if he’d thought to wait until you were alone in the lab, but I’m pretty sure patience and practicality aren’t his strong points. Possibly not even in his vocabulary.”

Loki is silent for a moment. “Why are you telling me this?” he asks finally. “You of all people know I am not to be trusted. I would think you would be glad to know there is a way to nullify my magic.”

Natasha’s eyebrows go up. “Nullify your magic? Sure. I have no problem with stuff like the magic dampeners Odin gave Fury. We should be able to protect ourselves when you decide to start using your magic to fuck with us. But that’s all they did, they were just for protection and they only affected the magic you were trying to do. Pym’s little trick attacked _you_ , not just your magic, and did some actual damage. Like I said, I don’t trust you, and I like having backup plans, but I’m not okay with that.”

“Hm,” Loki says, his expression turning a little shrewd. “And I suppose Fury likely distrusts you nearly as much as he does me, so you might think a bit of Maverick Dorm solidarity to be no bad thing.”

Natasha shrugs, unbothered by Loki’s assessment. “Nothing wrong with a little enlightened self-interest. And honestly, I trust Pym even less than I trust you, because at least I can generally depend on you to have selfish motives. Pym’s erratic and unpredictable.”

“Unlike the others,” Loki says after a moment, “I am sure you realize that I could take this evidence of goodwill and use it against all of you, taking advantage of the fact that most of you have just shown you are willing to stand with me.”

Natasha snorts. “Of course I realize. This isn’t amateur hour. I also realize that you drawing attention to the possibility doesn’t mean you won’t do it, but if you really planned to learn the wrong lesson and use us as dupes, you still wouldn’t have told me.”

Loki’s eyes narrow. “Maybe I should, just to prove you wrong. Or right.”

“You could do that,” Natasha agrees. “Or you could start figuring out what _you_ want instead of always playing up or down to everybody’s expectations. That’s no way to live. And yeah, you’re an immortal sorcerer and I’m a puny human, how dare I try to tell you what to do, whatever, I’ve heard it, save your breath. I just can’t help noticing that you talk a big game but you don’t do much to back it up, which kind of makes me think that’s not what you want after all.” Loki starts to sputter in outraged denial, and Natasha gets to her feet, cutting him off. “I don’t actually care about your arguments, okay? Just something to think about. And yes, you can consider the blood samples a gesture of goodwill, if you want.”

She departs, and Loki is left staring after her, frowning. After a moment, though, his look of consternation turns into something unexpectedly thoughtful, and he sinks back against the pillows, pulling the bag of vials closer.

_Damn_ them all; she might already be too late. Amora flicks a hand over the mirror to dismiss the spell and goes directly to Loki’s room, seething. This time, she makes no attempt to hide her anger; presented correctly, it will still be useful.

She restrains herself from actually slamming open Loki’s door but still employs more force than is really necessary. Loki looks up, expression startled for the barest flicker of an instant before it smooths over into tolerant amusement. “I just heard,” she says before he can offer something sardonic, and perches at the edge of the chair Romanov just vacated. “What did those idiot mortals _do_?”

His eyebrow goes up. “You will have to be more specific. ‘Idiot mortal’ does not narrow down the selection much.”

“In the lab,” she snaps, and she injects a hint of fear (with just a slight, slight inflection of horror) into her voice as she adds, softer, “They tried to _take_ your magic. I never guessed they _could_.”

“Ah. Yes.” Loki’s eyes slide away from hers, his hand flexing against the blankets. (He is no longer holding the bag, she realizes, having already hidden it—perhaps from her specifically. That is hardly surprising, but it is also not a particularly good sign.) “I am sure that was the ultimate intention, whatever Professor Pym or Director Fury may claim. They succeeded in doing no more than temporarily inconveniencing me.”

“You think me a fool,” Amora says. “You are badly weakened—however _temporarily_ —and your magic is almost entirely beyond your reach. I am not _blind_.” Loki tenses, and she moves quickly to properly focus his suspicion, throwing in a play to his pride. “I cannot help thinking, if they were able to do that to _you_ —” She leaves the rest unsaid; anything more will be far too obvious.

“Yes, all right,” Loki says, “my access to magic is limited, _temporarily_ , but now I know what to guard against—as do you, I suppose. What he tried this time will not work again, not least because in attempting anything else he must also abandon the pretense that it was an accident.”

“An accident,” Amora repeats. “And they expected you to _believe_ that?”

Loki starts to shrug and winces. “In fairness, explosions and electrocutions are quite common in his lab, so he maintains marginally plausible deniability. The disabling resonance…there is no way to prove that was deliberate either.”

“Certainly, if you are concerned with proof rather than common sense,” Amora says sharply. The blood samples would in fact seem to be proof of Pym’s intentions, and that Loki has not mentioned this part at all is…not encouraging.

Loki gives her a bored look that she wants—rather badly—to slap off his face. “What need have I of proof? It would not affect what I intend to do, which is to exact appropriately humiliating revenge on Pym and remain suspicious of his and Fury’s intentions.”

Amora hesitates. “Then you do not think…”

“I do not think _what_.”

“Odin has as much reason to fear and distrust you as they do—more perhaps, for he knows your skills better than they do. He does not spend as much time here as Fury and Pym, of course, but…it seems strange he would be entirely unaware of their attempt to cripple you. He might have even _told_ them how best to weaken you.”

Loki’s expression goes completely blank, and for a long moment he says nothing, long enough that Amora begins to hope she’s finally hit the mark. His relationship with Odin is difficult at best to begin with, but if she can encourage him to truly distrust the old king, to believe that Odin is already laying plans to control him and tame him even before Loki has proven himself a true villain…to begin to believe that even his father sees his descent into evil as inevitable, ultimately leaving Loki with little choice but the role written for him…

Well. That would be a magnificent seed, one that his own insecurities would nurture beautifully with very little additional work on her part.

And then the moment passes and that infuriating smirk is back on his face. “He might have, it’s true. Or Fury and Pym might simply have turned their well-known tendencies toward obsessiveness in my direction, which matters little, because I already do not trust them and I know they do not trust me, and I have every faith that Fury’s arrogance extends to keeping secrets from the Allfather—who is himself entirely confident in his ability to control me if necessary without ever thinking to rely on assistance from humans. Shortsighted of him, perhaps, but his certainty will make it all the sweeter when I seize his throne. No, I think it much more likely that Pym and Fury acted on their own observations—and perhaps that _someone else_ pointed them in the right direction.”

Amora folds her arms. “If you wish to accuse me of something, say it. Insinuations suit only the weak-minded.”

“Oh, I quite agree,” Loki says. “It would be cowardly indeed, for instance, to use suggestions and half-truths to turn a son against his father.”

“He _gave_ Fury the inhibitors,” Amora says. “Your _father_ , conspiring against you. Why is it so difficult to believe he might go further?”

Loki glares at her. “That happened because _you_ told Fury my plan.”

“Of course I did, because it was a terrible plan from the beginning,” Amora snaps, “and one that could have caused me considerable trouble even without my participation. My first loyalty has always been to myself, and you know that. I have never pretended otherwise. But if Odin can claim to support you and then plot against you—” She shakes her head. “I do not understand you. You rage against him, you plot to overthrow him, you complain about his unfairness in so clearly preferring Thor, you cannot seem to decide whether you even believe he loves you, and yet—in the face of all reason—you cling like a mewling child to this insistence that you can trust him not to destroy you.”

“Trust is such an odd thing,” Loki says. “I find myself inclined to bestow at least a bit of it on those who have demonstrated a modicum of concern for my welfare. Loath as I may be to admit it, my family does fall into that category, as do certain of my classmates—though not, by any means, all of them.”

Amora frankly sneers at him. She has failed, but at least there is some pleasure in abandoning pretense. “And you think these little Midgardians wish to be your _friends_? You think they _like_ you? You think you can trust them to defend you, take your side, believe you about _anything_?”

“True, they do not trust me,” Loki says. “But neither do they despise me—and on balance, I think I prefer that to a dubious ally who both distrusts and despises me. Call it foolish if you like; I am inclined to call it pragmatic.”

Amora stands and tilts her head to look down her nose at him. Even now, it’s rather satisfying. “If you are content with scraps of affection from mortals, I suppose that is your right, but if you think yourself wise for it, you are ten times the fool I thought you were.”

Loki’s smile is sharp. “Well, one cannot always please all of one’s subjects. Now run along, won’t you? This conversation has left me dreadfully bored, and if you remain I shall surely pass out from the tedium.”

She stares down at him, nearly speechless with fury, fists clenched and trembling. “Remember this, little Loki,” she says. “Remember that I gave you a chance to see reason and you spurned it. You will regret choosing against me.”

“Indeed,” Loki says through a theatrical yawn. “I find I already do. Perhaps you _should_ stay—I could use the help getting to sleep.”

Amora turns on her heel and leaves before he can insult her again, slamming the door so hard the frame cracks, and stomps back to her room. With any luck, she’s just worsened his headache—quite a poor consolation prize. She doesn’t _need_ Loki, of course, but it would have been useful to have his skills at her command, and certainly entertaining to turn him against his father and the rest of the Academy. But if Loki does not want to be on her side, fine; let him play at friendship with the mortals. Amora has bigger goals in mind and other strategies to try. There can only be one Enchantress, after all, and she needs no one’s help.

**Author's Note:**

> Ordinarily I think Scott and Maria are recruited at around the same time as Maverick Dorm is built, but in my game I built it earlier than the plot required and then when I did get to the Maverick Dorm plot point, I didn't want to shove even more characters into my fic or make significant edits (I mean, I already had to come up with an excuse to keep Steve and Sam offscreen because I didn't know what else to do with them, the last thing I wanted was more characters to deal with). So...it is what it is. 
> 
> As usual, my characterization of Loki (and Nat, in this case) is probably influenced a little too strongly by my characterization of MCU Loki, while Amora's characterization here might be influenced a little too strongly by MCU fics I've read where she's a nasty villain. (Finding out from recent events that she loves animals made me want to rethink some things a little, but...my desire to get this damn thing finished was stronger.) My interpretation of Hank Pym, on the other hand, is strictly based on his characterization in the game.
> 
> A note on names: my headcanon is that despite what we see in-game, the vast majority of the students refer to each other by their first names most of the time, except for Loki probably because he's nearly always trying to Make A Point. Amora, I figured, doesn't care enough about anybody to consistently use their real names or their superhero names when she thinks about them, to the extent that she does think about them, so in her narration I have her using whatever's fairly impersonal while also being short/easy. Basically that translates to last names for everybody except Janet.


End file.
